


Shambled

by Quinnacin



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Conversations, F/M, Gen?, Jokes, M/M, Mentions of Other Specialists, No Deaths though, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinnacin/pseuds/Quinnacin
Summary: The assassin sighed, but they did take a seat. Blackjack turned his head to watch the being leisurely sit down, but they knew the other wasn't hostile.He had no reason to be.Or the one where Spectre has a small visit to a certain mercenary.





	Shambled

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know . . I really like these two, they are my favorite characters in the game, but also because I think they have an interesting relationship spoke by quotes in the game????
> 
> I've been really attached to COD lately, there may be more works in that, lol
> 
> \- Green

Spectre stepped into the weaponry room, and was immediately presented by the mercenary seated on the large supply drop chest, his legs straddled as he fingered a coin trick with his mechanical hand. He glanced up, hesitantly speaking after eyeing the assassin, “You back? Whatchu need?”

Instantly, Spectre spoke in their filtered voice, “A trade is all I need.”

Blackjack half nodded, continuing the trick without glancing back at the other, morally focused on the coin. “A’right . .” With the other hand, the mercenary picked up a dark cup placed aside of his thigh, flipping the coin inside and placing it down besides his other thigh. He stood, looking at the assassin.

“Weapon?”

“Repairment,” Spectre told him, grabbing their specialist weapon and handing it to the mercenary.

Blackjack lifted a brow, scrutinizing the weapon at every angle. “W’happen to it?”

“Long story,” Spectre almost huffed.

“I got time,” chuckled Blackjack, delectably(?).

Spectre shook their head as the other nodded, and continued to scan the item. “Not relatively sure if I can do anything for it . .”

After a moment, he began to hand the weapon over, but stopped. He intimately wasn't sure whether he should ( or could ) help her out; the weapon was about well-nigh of being snapped in two. Exactly, what happened to it? What happened to Spectre?

Blackjack was eager to know. As Spectre grew extended their hand to retrieve the item, but he vigorously withdrew it behind his back. The assassin sent him a death glare, from beneath the mask. “You do indicate on bestowing that, right?”

“Of course, of course,” nodded Blackjack jokingly, which put a thought to Spectre whether the man was genuinely telling the truth, or the opposite. “But trades are trades.”

“You said there wasn't anything you could to fix it!” Spectre tried to snatch it back, but the other stepped back.

Blackjack slightly shook his head. “I didn't say I couldn't try.”

Damn . . The smug bitch. Spectre scoffed, merely crossing their arms and began to wait. “What is it that you incline towards?”

This was the moment Spectre realized they regretted ever walking foot in this room. They durably knew for a fact, everyone did, that the mercenary was a sneaky, delusive man, but he could keep a secret if you asked him to.

“Tell me what happened.” Blackjack took a seat on the chest, scooting towards the edge for enough space for the assassin; that, seemingly, was his ideal drift.

The assassin sighed, but they did take a seat. Blackjack turned his head to watch the being leisurely sit down, but they knew the other wasn't hostile.  
He had no reason to be.

“It was a mission. As I mentioned before, I dislike having others work with, or by me; seriously chafing,” they heard Blackjack chortle beneath the mask.

“Anyways, I was on the mission, people left on in groups. I went alone, but a few specialists trailed me, and I tried to get away from them,” Spectre tried their best to explain with being not at all-blundering, “but I was first flash-banged, then gunned down. Right here--” the assassin gingerly patted on their ankle, which would probably construe the sudden limping Spectre bring upon.

“Ah. So you would be in perfect shape if it weren't for being such a lone wolf?” joked Blackjack, agilely quick to dodge the playful punch thrown his way.

“Yeah . .” Spectre cracked a small smile, a tiny, faint one, “ . . basically.”

Blackjack grins before glancing ahead after a few seconds. “A’right . .” He swiftly then added, “One more thing?”

Spectre looked at him, “That is?”

“Your name?”

“Psht.” Spectre stood, rolling their eyes at the question. They weren't going to answer it; no personal questions such as those were allowed. The assassin comprehended that, personal questions and why they never chose to answer. Yes, they have noticed it before, but co-opted to ignore it. It wasn't important now, though. “You can just call me Spectre.”

Blackjack snorts, placing both his hands on his lap, still holding the bruised weapon. He glanced up, “Ok, _Spectre_.”

The assassin found themselves chuckling. They rarely did that, rarely even showed emotion, besides their snarky self, with sassy comments, and amusement. Sugar-coated Ruin, Spectre grinned. They blinked into reality, before swiftly pulling out their digital wallet. “How much--”

“It's on the house,” said Blackjack, a surprisingly momentous tone, although he was more than likely to be smugly smiling beneath that mouth guard- mask.

That didn't catch Spectre in a bind, though. It almost had.

Spectre nodded stiffly, a very feeble act of gratitude. Besides, they wouldn't really know what exactly to give the mercenary, besides cryptokeys, to thank him for repairing such a complicated weapon. It was what he did, right?

Spectre headed for the door, right after eyeing Blackjack as he pulled at the coin, and began a new trick. It wasn't until they made halfway to the door, fingertips resting on the knob as they turn only their head, adding, “By the way . . thank you for shambling my gender to _confuse the others_.”


End file.
